The Pet-Sitting Peril

by Willo Davis Roberts

  In the bathroom Fred scratched and protested being put into solitary confinement; Eloise replied with scratching of her own, and Nick hoped her claws wouldn’t tear the box apart from the inside.

  He tried once more to call his father, just in case he’d come home earlier than expected and hadn’t seen the note Winnie had left for him. There was no answer at all, though Nick let it ring and ring.

  Which meant, he hoped, that Winnie had gone to sleep and Barney and his friend were in the garage where they didn’t hear the telephone. He hoped they hadn’t gone off and left Winnie alone, when they were supposed to be watching out for her.

  Melody’s window across the way was dark now. Had she gone to bed? The window was still open, anyway.

  Nick wanted to yell at her, call her to the window, just to make contact with somebody. What could he say, though, that wouldn’t sound idiotic? And she’d think he was a sissy, afraid to be alone in a house.

  He turned away from the window and switched on the TV again. He had to have some sound in the place besides the quiet breathing of the two dogs.

  For a few seconds he didn’t know why the face that appeared on the television screen was familiar, and then he recognized the man. Mr. Hale, who owned the Hillsdale Apartments. He was making a speech about something to do with protection of the county’s natural resources.

  Nick wanted the trees and the beaches preserved, but he didn’t care to listen to a speech on the subject. He changed the channel and was back in the middle of the horror movie. The monster was sucking down into the swamp a girl with torn clothes who was shrieking and kicking.

  Nick muttered under his breath and turned the dial again, then pushed the button to turn the set off. What was he going to do to keep from going crazy until his dad got home?

  He jumped when Rudy began to make peculiar sounds. Gagging, Nick realized, and he tried to get the dog on his feet, to head him toward the kitchen, off the living room carpet.

  He didn’t quite make it. Nick felt a prickling in his eyes, as if he were going to cry, though of course that was absurd. An almost-twelve-year-old didn’t cry just because a dog threw up on a carpet, even if he did have to clean it up.

  He gritted his teeth and did the job, thinking of Barney mowing lawns out in the fresh air and getting better money for it.

  Rudy went to Maynard’s water dish and lapped at it, then stood, his expression groggy, staring at Nick as if in apology.

  Nick melted. He put an arm around Rudy’s neck, sitting there on the floor beside him, and hugged him. “Poor old guy. What’s happened to you, anyway? You and Maynard both. What did you get hold of? I know you ate one glob of garbage out there in the alley, but that was a long time ago. I hope you’re not both getting some disease or something. When my dad calls, I’ll have him take a look at you both, and maybe we’ll call a vet.”

  Rudy licked at his ear and wagged his stumpy tail. When Nick stopped patting him, he staggered onto the carpet again and went back to sleep.

  Nick tried once more to call home, once more got no answer, and in disgust stretched out on the couch to wait for his father to come home. He had to move Maynard aside to have room for his feet; when he was settled in, Maynard snuggled against his ankles, a welcome warmth there.

  He wasn’t sure if he’d dozed off or not. But all of a sudden he sat straight up, listening.

  There were footsteps coming up the stairs, slowly, carefully.

  The only light he had on was a little lamp over the TV, which didn’t give a great deal of illumination. It was enough, however, for him to see the clock beside it. A quarter of eleven. Early for Roy and Clyde to be coming home if Roy was playing guitar for the evening at one of the night spots where he worked.

  It didn’t sound like Roy and Clyde, at least not the way they usually took the stairs. Of course the lights were out, and they hadn’t had a flashlight, he remembered. He’d lighted their way downstairs with his own.

  Who else could it be, though? Nobody else ever came up here, not even Mr. Griesner except to bang on the door and yell about turning down the music.

  Rudy and Maynard just went on sleeping. No barking tonight because someone was in the hall. Did that mean they recognized who it was and accepted them? Or were they in such a heavy sleep that they weren’t even aware of the sounds?

  Nick dropped a hand onto Rudy’s head, but the Airedale slumbered on. Nick’s mouth was suddenly dry, because the dog was sleeping too soundly for it to be normal. Ordinarily he would have responded to such a touch.

  Drugged, he thought. Were they drugged? Had there been something in that garbage Rudy ate in the alley? Or in the dog food both dogs had had in their dishes?

  He really didn’t remember putting anything out for them since breakfast, and yet there had been food left, though neither of them had ever failed to clean up his bowl almost at once.

  Why was his mind working so clearly now, when he hadn’t thought of it earlier? Had the dog food had something in it to make the dogs sleep, or to make them sick? He thought if it had been a poison that would kill them, it would have done so before this. Poisons usually worked fast, didn’t they? He wondered if throwing up part of what they’d eaten meant they’d gotten rid of part of it; he sure hoped so.

  They’d had enough to make them sleep through just about anything, though. Nick sat on the edge of the couch, his heart beating so loudly that for a moment he couldn’t tell if there was still anyone moving around out in the hall or not.

  Nick eased onto his stockinged feet and moved silently toward the door, leaning his ear against it to listen.

  Quite clearly he heard a key turn in the lock across the hall.

  If it was Clyde and Roy returning, Nick thought, they’d turn on the stereo as soon as they turned on the lights. They always did, even at night, and they knew there was nobody home below them tonight.

  There was no music.

  Something clattered and fell, and a man’s voice cursed.

  “Gives me the creeps,” another voice said.

  “Crummy old place like this, it’s better off being burned down.”

  “Come on, let’s get the job done and get out of here. Wish we’d been able to do it last night. Those darn dogs! But the stuff we got today worked all right. No barking tonight to get people all riled up and investigating. Here, you take this one, and I’ll take the other one.”

  Nick, behind the door to Mrs. Monihan’s apartment, sorted out what he was hearing. He was so cold he could hardly move. Did it mean what he thought it did?

  It hurt his chest to breathe. He moved almost blindly to the telephone and dialed his own house. Still no answer. When I get hold of Barney, I’ll pound his brains out, Nick thought. He was supposed to be baby-sitting Winnie and to stay within reach of the phone, and he knew nobody could hear it ring from the garage.

  The police. He’d better call the police.

  He didn’t know what he’d say, didn’t know if he could make them believe him, that something was terribly wrong at the Hillsdale Apartments. Maybe he should just call the fire department, if what he suspected was the truth. Whoever was out there had been here before, had been scared off by the dogs; now they’d returned to finish their job.

  Had the speaker meant it literally, that the house would be better off burned down? Was that what they were here to do?

  You dialed 911 for emergency calls, he knew that. He was so nervous he could hardly get his finger in the right place, and then it was too late, anyway.

  Because this time the key was clicking in the lock right across the room from him, and before he could do anything else at all, the door began to swing inward.

  Chapter Twelve

  Afterward, he thought maybe if he’d kept his head and finished dialing the three-digit number he might have summoned help even if he didn’t have time to speak to the emergency operator, though the intruders would have walked in on him in the middle of the procedure.

  As it was, Nick panicked.

&n
bsp; He dropped the phone and threw himself into the only hiding place he could reach fast enough. Behind the couch.

  It wasn’t really much of a hiding place, because the couch stood several feet out from the wall to allow for access to a bookcase on that wall. If anybody walked to the end of the couch, there wouldn’t be any hiding place at all; Nick would be in plain sight.

  It was the only thing he could think of, however. He held his breath as long as he could; he couldn’t do anything about his heart. It was making so much noise he was sure anyone in the room could hear it.

  They didn’t seem to, though. And it took only a few seconds for Nick to realize who they were.

  The workmen, Al and Greg. They’d had keys; his mind registered that. They’d had keys to the front door, to Clyde and Roy’s apartment, and to this one. No doubt they had keys to the others, as well, which explained how they’d gotten in and put drugged dog food into Rudy and Maynard’s dishes.

  As if reading his mind, Greg said, “The stuff worked. The dogs are out cold.”

  “Yeah. We won’t have any trouble from them. Hey, did you leave a light on in here? And why are they both in the same apartment?”

  “Maybe the kid was here after and put the dogs together for company. He may have left the light on, too.” He sniggered. “Or maybe that cat turned it on, the way he did the stove, huh?” He laughed again. “That was a good idea I had, pulling the fuses on most of the lights so everybody’d get out of the house tonight. Worked better than just unscrewing bulbs all over the place.”

  Al walked toward the couch. Nick could see his feet in the narrow space between the bottom of the couch and the floor; his chest was bursting and he had to have air, so he tried to inhale very slowly and quietly. There was dust in the carpet behind the furniture and he hoped desperately that it wouldn’t make him sneeze.

  “Hey. The phone’s off the hook.”

  Nick swiveled his head slightly and saw it, dangling at the end of its cord, swaying gently. Then it disappeared as Al picked it up.

  “Nobody on it, just a dial tone. It was moving, though. Like somebody just dropped it.”

  “You probably made a breeze when you walked over there. Come on, let’s pour this stuff around and get out of here. This time we’re going to do it right, no slip-ups, no stupid kids finding the fire too soon, no nasty Mr. Hale wanting to know why we can’t do anything right.”

  “If he’s so particular, he should start his own fire. Burn down his own building,” Al said. Nick couldn’t see anybody now, but heard footsteps going toward the kitchen, and then a sloshing sound, like running water.

  “Take it easy with that stuff,” Al warned. “If we use too much they’re going to know it was arson. Mr. Nasty Hale wouldn’t like that, if his alibi was all for nothing and they figure out he set this up. The insurance won’t pay off if he torches his own place. It’s supposed to look like an accident.”

  In the kitchen, Greg swore. “We’ve been trying to make an ‘accident’ for over two weeks. This time I’m just going to get it burned down, collect my money, and get out of town. If Hale gets caught, that’s his problem. I’m gonna be long gone by that time.”

  His voice sounded closer as he returned to the living room. “If it hadn’t been for that stupid kid that walks the dogs, we’d have been finished before this. We couldn’t start a fire under the stairs, or under the old man’s sink, or up here. He must’ve found the cereal box before it burned up enough to catch the curtains behind it. I figured with the lights out in the old man’s apartment, though, he wouldn’t stay down there again.”

  Nick’s chest hurt so bad he didn’t know how much longer he could stay frozen in this position, nor how long he could avoid sneezing, either. If his father came home and tried to call and got no answer, would he come looking for Nick, or just assume that Nick was out walking the dogs one last time?

  Immediately he knew that wouldn’t matter. Even if his dad called right now, he’d never get here in time. These guys were planning to start their fire any minute.

  Would he have time to get out, to get the animals out, once they’d left? They surely were planning to set a fire in such a way as to allow themselves time to escape. Maybe, Nick thought, his mind racing, he could get the dogs and cats out the back door, from Mrs. Monihan’s kitchen, and down that outside stairs. If the fire wasn’t already coming up underneath it. And if Rudy could wake up enough to walk down such a precarious escape ladder.

  “All set?” Greg wanted to know. “Okay. Get ready to run, once we torch it off across the hall. Some ways, I’d rather have started it on the ground floor, because fire goes up so fast. But this is probably a better way. Those guys were burned out of a place once before, and when it happens again, everybody will think either they’re careless with turpentine and that other junk they paint with, or they set it on purpose to collect some more insurance money.”

  “Yeah,” Al agreed. One of them opened the door into the hallway. “We waited late enough so most of the people in the neighborhood have gone to bed. By the time anybody notices there’s a fire up here, the whole place will be burning. Mr. Hale will have his total destruction so he can collect the insurance money.”

  “Who cares, as long as he pays us? Come on, let’s go.”

  For a moment, just a moment, Nick thought they were going to walk out of the apartment, and he was already drawing himself up onto his hands and knees, preparing to run for the back door as soon as they’d gone.

  And then Al spoke again, in a soft, funny tone that lifted the hair off the back of Nick’s neck.

  “Hey. Hey, I think we got a problem, Greg.”

  “What now? What’s the matter?”

  “That kid that walks the dogs, remember?”

  “Sure. I thought we asked if he was going to stay here tonight, and he said no.”

  Greg’s voice was very low, and very frightening. “Then what are his shoes doing here at the end of the couch?”

  Nick thought he was going to be sick, just like Maynard and Rudy.

  The silence was more terrifying than anything they could have said. And then there were quick, heavy footsteps. A big hand grabbed Nick by the shirt collar and he was dragged out into the room. Kicking and hitting out with his fists didn’t do any good; Al was much larger and stronger than he was, and when the man slapped him and threw him into a chair, Nick cowered there with a hand to where Al had struck him.

  One of them, he never remembered which, let loose a long string of profanity.

  “Now what do we do?” Al asked, sounding almost as hollow as Nick felt.

  “What do you think we do? We torch the place, just like we agreed.” Greg’s voice was hard.

  “But the kid knows who we are. He heard a lot of what we said.”

  “There’s some rope in that tool box. Tie him to the couch, and when they find his remains, they’ll figure he was asleep when it happened.”

  Nick’s nose was bleeding. He felt the warm trickle down to his upper lip and put up a hand to smear it to one side. It was worse than the horror movie, it was like he was in some kind of nightmare; he could taste the blood, and he wondered if his nose was broken.

  “Now wait a minute,” Al protested, though he didn’t sound strong enough to give Nick much hope. “I agreed to torch this place, but we said we’d get the people out of it, first. We waited till we knew they were all out, remember? I don’t mind a little arson, but I’m not going to kill anybody. I’m not going to be wanted for murder.”

  Murder. Nick swiped again at the blood and wiped it on his jeans. They couldn’t mean it, nobody could deliberately set a fire with a kid in the house so he’d get burned up. Could they?

  They’d started the first fire in the alley, when the whole place was full of people. Maybe they hoped everybody would get out, because it was early and everybody was awake, but they couldn’t have been sure of that. Nick swallowed painfully and stared at the one called Greg.

  Greg was very skinny, but he wasn
’t wearing coveralls now and Nick could see that he had muscles. His dark hair hung in an uncombed lock over his forehead, and his mouth had a flat hardness that made Nick swallow again, even if it did hurt to do it.

  Al was the one with the sandy mustache, which he was now tugging. “I mean it, Greg. I’m going to get out of here; let old Hale worry about burning down his own building. It’s not me who has bad money problems, he has. At least, mine aren’t bad enough so I’m going to burn down a house with a kid in it.”

  Nick waited, hoping against hope that Greg would decide the same way. Only Greg didn’t.

  “You’re a fool. If we walk out now, the kid’s going to tell what he knows, which is too much. Look, can’t you see we don’t have any choice? We already tried to torch the place before, and they can throw us in jail for that, even if we don’t do anything else. We’re leaving town anyway, aren’t we? As soon as we light the match, we head out. Nobody will be looking for us, as long as this kid isn’t around to shoot off his mouth. We have to do it that way, Al. Now come on, tie the kid up.”

  Al licked his lips. “The rope’s still downstairs.”

  “Well, find something here if you don’t want to go after it. The old lady that lives here must have belts or something. Look in the bedroom closet and see.”

  Beside his chair the curtains fluttered in the breeze that sent a chill into the room. Nick slid his gaze sideways, trying to tell if there was any light in the house next door, the room where Melody might be asleep. If she wasn’t asleep, could she hear a conversation from over here?

  She would hear if he stuck his head out the window and yelled, probably. Only they weren’t going to let him do that. Still, he said loudly, “You won’t get away with burning this house down. No matter where you go, they’ll find you and bring you back, especially if anybody gets hurt when it happens.”

  “Shut up,” Greg said. He stepped backward without looking, and ran into the cat box. Eloise aroused and let out a screech that was as much fury as anything else, and Greg looked startled. “What the heck’s that?”